


Harmonica

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-10
Updated: 2008-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: Al and Scorpius each received a harmonica from their father. Through their music, a romance that never was would change Hogwarts.





	Harmonica

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the weekly dracoharry100 challenge "Harmony", this story was composed of forty-two 100-word drabbles, each using the word "harmony" or its variation. I took "harmonica" as one of the variations and a story sprouted from there.

Al was thirteen.  
  
One Quidditch match lost was all it took for the reverence he had been so accustomed to to dissipate. He lacked his parents’ agility and power, they jeered. He was unworthy of the Potter name.  
  
He hid in the obscure corners of Hogwarts, skipping meals and refusing to talk; his friends, the very few who had befriended him for who he was and not for his surname, failed to approach him.  
  
Several days later, his dad stopped by the school; instead of showering him with Gran’s cookies and his mum’s pep talk, he gave him a harmonica.

~ 

It was silver, slender with engravings that looked impossibly ornate against the scars crisscrossing on the back of his dad’s hand.  
  
_People will always have expectations,_  he consoled.  _For every praise they shower on a hero, they cast a hope on him; for every tribute they chant is a dream they have failed to reach._  
  
Al was perplexed.  
  
_Find time for yourself. Remember your aspirations. Do not let others tell you what you want or do not want._  
  
Al nodded.  
  
_If they don’t leave you alone, play this harmonica. Very badly._  
  
For the first time in a week, Al smiled.

 ~

Scorpius was fourteen when he was given a harmonica.

It was during winter break. The first girl he had fallen in love with had rejected him, citing his family’s past as the cause. He looked afar, crouched in his childhood swing that was rocking gently on its own. At least, that was how Scorpius explained his turbulent vision.  
  
He didn’t turn to the approaching footsteps; it would make him appear needy, weak. If his mother wanted to talk, she would do so anyway.  
  
The swing jerked, its chains clinked at the strong grasp of a hand.  
  
It was his father’s.

~

 _If it were something you truly desire, fight for it._ His father drawled when Scorpius had looked up.  
  
_No judgment from the others should sway your resolve. No self doubt should ever cloud your sight of the goal._  
  
Scorpius shrugged, hiding his confusion.  
  
_Remember you’re always worthy of what you’ve won, be it a trophy or someone’s heart. Laud your victory._  
  
His father then retrieved something from his pocket – a harmonica, its scratched gold rugged against the pale, trim hand.  
  
_If nobody bothers to hear you out, play this harmonica. Very badly._  
  
Scorpius tried to suppress a smile. He failed.

~

Al suspected there was something wrong with the harmonica.  
  
He had learned how to play with a tune printed on paper more furrowed than the map of a Muggle treasure hunt. His dad had asserted it to be the only sheet music he could find in the basement.  
  
The melody was beautiful, the rhythm built steadily to its climax and then softened to a tranquil end; yet somehow, Al sensed a lack every time he had finished playing it. No matter how the notes had flowed, they had ultimately fallen flat, their passion stifled to mere mechanical vibrations of the air.

~ 

After taking the harmonica apart and inspecting every reed to no avail, Al asked his dad whether he knew what had happened to it.

Upon a moment of hesitation, his dad confirmed that while the instrument had been pitch perfect for a while, something inside had broken eventually and the notes had never sounded right again.  
  
It had occurred shortly after the war; with his friends always by his side, the harmonica had soon been left forgotten.  
  
When Al joked about finding time for himself and his aspirations, his dad fell uncharacteristically silent.  
  
Al never brought up the issue again.

~ 

Scorpius was certain that his harmonica was defective.  
  
His father had retrieved a piece of sheet music from the cellar, claiming that it was suitable for beginners. Scorpius had doubted the existence of other options, for the paper looked incredulously crumpled, as if his father had never played anything else at all.  
  
The piece was mellifluous, soaring and diving towards its poignant end; yet somehow, Scorpius felt overwhelmed every time he had completed it. Despite having a well-distinguished tempo, its execution sounded as though a chaotic path had been scorched towards the finale, leaving the listener drained and empty afterwards.

~

After consulting many books to no avail, Scorpius voiced his concern to his father.

The story of the harmonica was hence unfolded. Its resonance had been astonishingly powerful, but during his father’s final year in school, something inside it had fractured, disrupting the airflow. The town’s musician had nonetheless found the instrument unworthy of repair; instead, he had lured his father to purchase the latest model – a scarlet one, his father recalled. His father had stormed off, simmering with rage.  
  
Scorpius was about to mention fighting for one’s worth, vocalizing the heart’s desires.  
  
Something in his father’s eyes silenced him.

~

Despite its flaws, Al got increasingly attached to his harmonica.

His jeans pocket was very much like Aunt Hermione’s purse; it contained everything perceivable. He couldn’t place the harmonica inside, however, for its silver shone too brightly, its design looked too elegant; thus he bought a mokeskin pouch for the instrument and strung it to his bag.  
  
He woke early every morning and headed to the lake. It had been a habit since his fourth year at Hogwarts, following his dad’s advice about saving time for himself; to find peace, to reflect.  
  
He would take out the harmonica and play.

~

Scorpius had grown rather fond of his defective harmonica.

His possessions were always meticulously organized in magical compartments of his book bag, but the harmonica felt out of place when he placed it inside. Somehow, the down to earth appearance had demanded the instrument being kept closer to him.  
  
He faltered slightly when the weight had first settled in his trousers. Soon, however, he refused to leave his dormitory without it.  
  
He had always been a night person; one daybreak during the fifth year, after staying up to study for OWLS, he decided to take a walk by the lake.

~

The skies of early spring were not completely lit and the waters were blanketed by a veil of mist, but the music drifting from the alcove along the shoreline was clearly audible, crisp as the dewdrops that had gathered on the fresh leaves.

It was the sound of a harmonica.  
  
The tune was familiar, vaguely similar to what Scorpius had learned to play; but the rhythm was marvelously structured, the melody a graceful dance in the air.  
  
He squinted to discern the silhouette from afar, but the fog was too heavy.  
  
He chose to show his appreciation with his music.

~

Al almost dropped his instrument into the water when he heard a melodious response to his tune.

He could only see the outline of a man on the cape along the shoreline, a cool grey shadow against the almost white backdrop; but there was nothing cold or dark in the almost recognizable notes that sprang into his ears, their passion and vivacity sparkling and warming the surrounding haze like fire.  
  
Unlike the usual company that had often driven him into unease, this companionship, so enveloping and yet unintrusive, calmed him.  
  
He took a deep breath, and resumed playing his harmonica.

~

Spring came and went; Al and Scorpius spent every morning together with their harmonica, the stretch of shoreline between them eroding in the waves like their mistrust whittling away by the music.

It hadn’t taken long for them to recognize one another after the sun had risen; they had never spoken to each other before, Scorpius being too aware of his families’ past, Al finding no desire to talk to someone who would undoubtedly crucify him for his surname.  
  
It also didn’t take long for them to realize that their pieces were meant to be components of a harmonica duet.

~

The knowledge came as a surprise, of course.

As they played the harmonica, they began to notice how the instrument was not only responding to themselves, but also to the sounds drifting from afar. Scorpius’ music leapt in sync to the rhythm offered by Al’s, while Al’s tune took flight under the wings of Scorpius’ melodies.  
  
The outcome was pitch perfect, its chords resonating so powerfully that ripples blossomed in the lake water.  
  
They both wondered about what they had been told about the harmonica, their minds spinning as they sweated profusely in the first heat wave of the summer.

~

A Hufflepuff eager to skinny dip in the lake was the first to hear the harmonica duet.

Instead of losing temper at his foiled plans, the student returned to the castle and woke his friends, who all came down to watch them, sprawling on the sand close to Scorpius as they were partial to his lighthearted, energetic tune.  
  
They were a chatty bunch, but their laughs and whispers reminded Scorpius that he had an audience, and more importantly, they were perfectly at ease and appreciative as he performed.  
  
He hated to admit it, but he very much enjoyed their company.

~

Several days later, the Ravenclaws came.

They picked the spot between Al and Scorpius where the sound of the harmonicas were the most balanced. Armed with books and encyclopedias, they lay on the sand and read, a cup of tea conjured and cradled in their hands.  
  
They were mostly quiet, but soon Al and Scorpius began to receive little paper planes.  
  
On the paper scrawled playlists of magical duets, which, according to the Ravenclaws, were rarely heard and their house was still researching their origins.  
  
Al and Scorpius learned a few, but the original piece always opened their act.

~

The first time the harmonica duet was interrupted was when the Gryffindors charged into the scene.

They rushed in from behind Al; one miscalculated embrace from his brother later, the younger Potter found himself immersed in the lake.  
  
“I can’t swim!” Al squeaked.  
  
James laughed as he stripped and ran to shove his brother back onto the shore; he remained in the lake afterwards, however, and his housemates joined him.  
  
Thus the Gryffindors found their place to enjoy the music, although they were often too busy swimming or playing water Quidditch to pay attention to the musicians.  
  
Al didn’t mind.

~

The Slytherins came last, on a morning in which shards of cool rain had finally punctured the oppressive heat.

They arrived from behind Scorpius, a black formation that marched across the shore. The students settled beside Al, their eyes watching his every move in case he suddenly decided to attack one of their own.  
  
Strangely enough, Al wasn’t intimidated; he valued their scrutiny, for they were judging him on his own merit.  
  
He played the best that he could.  
  
They liked the restraint of his piece, his green eyes intent on the silver harmonica.  
  
A week later, their shoulders drooped.

~

As the end of academic year drew close, the level of house rivalry escalated; house points accumulated as quickly as they were stripped away, and the preparation of the Quidditch cup final was at its last stage.

Members of the different houses traded their customary invectives during the school hours, but they never brought those hurtful words to their morning gathering by the lake.  
  
They wondered why; the musicians among them could readily point out the imperfections in Al and Scorpius’ techniques, but the harmony of their music seemed capable of infusing into their senses with its strength and passion.

~

The Ravenclaws provided a theory at the end of the Leaving Feast.

Two petite second years approached Al and Scorpius at their respective House table, muttering an invitation to join them for a conversation outside the Great Hall.  
  
Once they were in the corridor, the girls studied the fifth years with wide-eyed interest, a notepad and a quill in hand.  
  
“You two are not in love, aren’t you?” One of them piped up.  
  
Al jumped; Scorpius immediately launched a defensive. “What kind of a question is that?”  
  
“Your harmonica,” the girl responded, almost matter-of-factly. “How could you not know that?”

~

“Not know  _what_?” Scorpius stepped closer, his shadow looming over hers. The girl whimpered.

“The harmonicas are magical items, bound by an ancient spell only castable by lovers.” The other girl moved forward and feigned courage by regurgitating the memorized words.  
  
Al liked her instantly.  
  
Scorpius was about to rebut, but Al caught his arm, “No, we are not dating. We … got the instruments from a hawker who happened to pass by Hogsmeade. Right, Scorpius?”  
  
Scorpius froze for a split second. Then he nodded.  
  
The girl wrote it down, chewed on her quill for a moment.  
  
“Okay,” she said.

~ 

The summer flew by; neither Al nor Scorpius mentioned the magic of the harmonica with their families.

The nights were cool and pleasant in Ottery St. Catchpole. Al’s dad would relax on the bench in the front yard, his mum leaning against him, her red hair glowing under the moonlight as she wrote her articles. His dad would smooth her hair with his fingers and whisper something that made her chuckle.  
  
Al thought his dad deserved to keep a secret.  
  
As for Scorpius, he simply took pleasure in knowing something that his father didn’t know he had the knowledge about.

~ 

Their morning duets continued for the next two years.

For the students at Hogwarts, they became part of the school’s daily offering, as sure as classes and Quidditch practices. Some came everyday, some once in a while, but everyone knew where to find peace and harmony if they needed it.  
  
The Ravenclaws never publicized their findings. While the harmonicas were definitely bound by romance, without Al and Scorpius being an item, the house members had insufficient arguments to quell contradictions or fuel intellectual discussions.  
  
That was how the girl, who had grown into a beautiful young woman, clarified to Al.

~ 

When he asked how she knew that he and Scorpius hadn’t lied, she merely blushed.

Soon, he saw Scorpius kissing her in the corridor.  
  
Not that Al had time for gossips; he was too busy unraveling the heavenly secrets of Honeyduke’s. Mr. Flume had kindly offered him an apprenticeship, and people marveled at how the perpetually emaciated Harry Potter and the gorgeously athletic Ginny Weasley should have a son that would become a confectioner one day.  
  
He still played Quidditch. The harmony of the mornings seemed to have cascaded into the school hours – there hadn’t been a fight for months.

~

It happened slowly at first; like ice thawing, the first drop of condensate was rarely discernible.

A “thank you” as a student from a different house picked up a quill for another student, a “sorry” after they collided with one another; the words soon trickled into conversations, inconsequential but friendly, and they began to invite each other into their common rooms, laughed at each other’s jokes in class and stood up for points unfairly taken off from other houses. They cheered at every Quidditch move, regardless of who had executed it.

Al wondered how two harmonicas could change so much.

~

Scorpius often suspected that their harmonicas understood Hogwarts; they knew exactly where the battle lines had been drawn and resolved to erase them one by one.

He witnessed the blossoming of interhouse friendships, then, interhouse romances.  
  
They were still more difficult than intrahouse dating, mainly due to differences in interests and priorities.  
  
One could learn so much, however, if one desired to do so.  
  
Too much, almost; he stared blankly at the page of ancient runes; finally, refusing to resist any longer, he kissed Marienne – loudly, sloppily.  
  
Hastily, she hushed him, but her bright smile could illuminate the whole library.

~ 

As Al and Scorpius’ graduation drew near, the school realized that they needed successors.

Everyone was aware that a significant part of their musical magic was sealed in the instruments, yet somehow, even those who had developed strong harmonica skills failed to capture it.  
  
The students decided to uphold the tradition nonetheless, so they searched for talented musicians from each house, who all considered it an honor to perform on a rotational basis the coming year.  
  
That evening, Marienne told Scorpius that the harmonicas must be inherited – not by congruence in the bloodline, but by devotion of the heart.

~

Magical instruments were dedicated with the utmost love, for they were keys to the soul of the presenter; the melody would dance to its joys and sorrows, the resonance deliver its hopes and despairs. This pair of harmonicas was also the keepsake of a romance that had fused the two souls – not in marriage, but in the way they each had drawn an inalterable signature onto the other.  
  
Neither him nor Al could have purchased them.  
  
Scorpius nodded, acknowledging his deceit in silence. He then asked whether his presenter could remain unidentified.  
  
“Okay,” Marienne kissed him lightly and replied.

~ 

Scorpius owled Al about what Marienne had explained to him about their harmonicas; since the two men rarely exchanged words beyond their morning ritual, Al felt grateful.

Scorpius didn’t divulge who his presenter was; it suited Al fine, for he was unsure of disclosing his either. He contemplated who it could have been in the Malfoy family that his dad had fallen in love with, who had managed to leave an indelible mark on the Gryffindor’s heart now that even the lightning scar had faded to a barely visible line.  
  
His years at Hogwarts had dwindled to the final day.

~

Al found Scorpius waiting by the carriages, sitting on trunks that had been expanded to hold the memorabilia from seven years at Hogwarts.  
  
“Hi,” Al pulled his own trunk beside the blond, who turned, looking startled; Al extended his hand, “I just want to thank you for the last two years.”  
  
Scorpius returned the handshake; he also wanted to say something, for he felt he had known Al for a long time; he could tell the mood of his companion from the harmonica duet everyday.  
  
Nonetheless, Scorpius stumbled on finding the right words. “Thank you, too,” was all he managed.

~

The two young men waited side by side in silence, watching the other students shove their belongings onto the carriages. Interhouse harmony meant even more hugs and kisses were doled out between bids of farewell than in previous years.  
  
“Why don’t you –“ Al began.  
  
“My father is coming,” Scorpius sat up straight, still feeling uncomfortable at discussing his former Death Eater of a father with a Potter.  
  
Al noticed his unease.  
  
“Mine too,” he responded casually, “he hasn’t been here since my third year.”  
  
A brief pause followed, then Scorpius muttered softly.  
  
“Mine hasn’t been here since his own graduation.”

~

“He has a better excuse to be late then,” Al grinned as he bounded lightly to sit on his own trunk. “Mine is probably lost somewhere.”  
  
“Lost?”  
  
Al nodded. “Don’t let his spectacles fool you,” he chuckled, “he’s pretty blind.”  
  
Scorpius couldn’t help but snicker, “the Ministry will sue you for slander.”  
  
Al’s neck was impossibly stretched as he tried to catch a glimpse at the faraway arrivals. “I can say whatever I want about my dad. He taught me how to play the harmonica, you know.”  
  
Scorpius, squinting to search also, was equally distracted.  
  
“My father taught me too.”

~

The implications of this conversation would not strike Al until after their fathers had shown up.  
  
Draco Malfoy arrived one carriage before Harry Potter, but both carried the same astonished expression as they walked down the muddy lane, evidently bewildered by the huddles of students from different houses who had harmoniously congregated.  
  
“Alright, Dad, close you mouth … you look like an idiot,” Al muttered, although the flush on his face betrayed his joy.  
  
Scorpius chimed in, “mine looked more like a moron.” His excited whisper wavered slightly.  
  
Al laughed.  
  
“You know what? We need to a picture of this.”

~

Being a Potter had its convenience; most would offer Al whatever he needed should he ask for it.  
  
Soon he was back on his trunk with a camera in his hands; he fumbled with the knobs and switches.  
  
“You know how this works?”  
  
“Of course,” Scorpius replied rather haughtily, “you can play a harmonica but can’t use a camera?” He tutted and snatched the device form Al. Less than fifteen seconds later, the flashlight flared brightly.  
  
The photo was instantly available. Al and Scorpius took one look at it, then laughed so hard that they almost rolled off their trunks.

~

That was the state in which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy found their sons; Al’s hair was an absolute mess, his one hand clutching a photo and the other pressing against his stomach, which heaved violently with nearly suffocating laughter. Scorpius had collapsed onto his back, his finger wiping away the derisive tears on his face.  
  
Draco’s eyes and lips narrowed simultaneously; first the interhouse harmony, now this … had he been thrown into a mental asylum?  
  
Then there was Harry, standing so close. He could smell him, fresh as the breeze by the lake so many years ago.

~

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scene before him, but Al’s laughter was comforting; he had no reason to worry.  
  
He tried to retrieve the photo, but Al only clutched it tighter in his fist; his mirth, which had just begun to show signs of faltering, resumed to blossom again.  
  
Scorpius was similarly affected by the renewed laughter; his body shifted, and a golden shadow slipped out of his trouser pocket.  
  
It somersaulted in the sunlight; Draco and Harry bent to catch it before it landed on the grass.  
  
Their hands touched; then, Harry recognized his harmonica.

~

People said love was ageless, that it would silent all cynics.  
  
They also claimed death to last eternity. Harry, therefore, believed in neither; instead, he believed that love was definable by months, even seconds.  
  
Just like those months he had fallen for Draco, when he had played the harmonica with the lonesome Slytherin every sunset; just like these seconds, when Draco’s hand held his own.  
  
Time had won, its prowess irrefutable as the laughter of their grown sons, each conceived with their respective spouse. The cynics.  
  
But he loved Al.  
  
And he had his months, his seconds.  
  
It was enough.

~

Malfoys were accustomed to having everything handed to them on a silver platter – often, a literal one.

The war and its aftermath had taught Draco to fight for what he desired. Harry had been his ultimate victory.  
  
He had feared their romance wouldn’t last. When he had been told that the Savior had deserved someone more worthy, he had believed them and let Harry go.  
  
Now Harry’s hand was in his again, wrapped around the harmonica as gold and rugged as the ring on Harry’s finger.  
  
Draco realized that to love was to set free.  
  
He let go. Once more.

~

For the first time in seventeen years, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy could look deep into each other’s eyes. The stare and the curt nod from seven years ago dissipated into a smile.  
  
Scorpius and Al had partially recovered; they were panting loudly, Scorpius absentmindedly patting the harmonica restored in his trouser’s pocket, while Al idly pulled on a pouch tied on his bag.  
  
“Done laughing?” Harry asked.  
  
Scorpius finally sat up, struggling hopelessly to regain composure. Meanwhile, Al dug out a Muggle pen.  
  
“They deserve a copy of this.” He reproduced the photo, still snickering, “We’ll autograph.”  
  
Scorpius agreed.

~ 

Scorpius held the Muggle pen with a look of concentration usually reserved for slaying dragons; then he bit his lips and began to write.

In a flowing script, he marked a corner of the photo:  _To Father and_  
  
“Dad,” Al commented.  
  
Draco and Harry eyed their sons suspiciously.  
  
Scorpius signed his name in a flourish and handed the pen and photo back to Al; he then retrieved his harmonica and impishly blew random notes.  
  
Al was about to sign his name when the meaning of the exchange that had taken place before their fathers had arrived finally hit him.

~

He looked up and swept his vision from his father to Mr Malfoy; they looked happy, even at peace.

He wondered what had transpired. Did they know that their love had conquered centuries of animosity? That the students were so spellbound by its harmony that they had relinquished the age-old tradition of bitter rivalry?  
  
Time must have healed the wounds.  
  
Scorpius played a particularly dissonant chord. Everyone glared at him; he smirked.  
  
The din directed Al’s attention back to the photo. He signed his name adjacent to Scorpius’, below the funny faces of their parents.  
  
Then he added,  
  
“With Love.”

 

 

_**Epilogue** _

_“You’re the groom! Don’t you have better things to do than my hair?”  
_

_“You’re the best man, and the best man does not have a bird’s nest – AND A CHUNK OF CARAMEL – in his hair!”  
  
“Hey, try the caramel, it’s good.”  
  
“MMMmmm ... Great, now I have to floss again.”  
  
“No, you don’t. It'll make your kiss sweeter. Are you sure Marienne is okay with the duet replacing the first dance?”  
  
“Yes, I am letting her use my harmonica. It’s been sounding perfect even in solo.”  
  
“Mine too.”  
  
“Do you know why that is?”  
  
“ … ”  
  
“Al?”  
  
“Nope, not a clue.” _  
  
  
  
\- Fin


End file.
